


Morning After

by blackandwhiteandrose, TrueIllusion



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxious David Rose, Boys Kissing, Coming Out, David Rose Makes Patrick Brewer Feel Right, Early Relationship, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Patrick Brewer is Gay, gay revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhiteandrose/pseuds/blackandwhiteandrose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: He’s startled at his reflection when he finally glances in the mirror -- his hair high and wild and his tired eyes impossibly dark inside the shadows of what’s left of his expertly smudged eyeliner. Did he really not only skip his skin care routine, but didn’t even take time to wash his face? How fucked upwashe? And how the hell did he get home?Fucked up. Patrick.Oh god.This is not how David had hoped to start out the new year.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 45
Kudos: 274





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> What better way to spend the first day of 2021 than collaborating on a story about our two favorite boys? Happy New Year!

David groans as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He’s never wanted to not admit his age more than he did right now, standing up slowly and feeling it all over his body -- the aches a not-so-subtle reminder that he is probably too old for this shit.

He shuffles into the bathroom, wondering if it’s possible he’d actually drank enough last night to justify the way his head is pounding. He flicks on the switch and the soft white light is an unwelcome assault. He picks up his toothbrush and squeezes out the exact right amount of toothpaste, carefully tipping up the end into a perfect magazine-worthy swirl. He may be _really_ hungover, but he’s not a _savage_.

He’s startled at his reflection when he finally glances in the mirror -- his hair high and wild and his tired eyes impossibly dark inside the shadows of what’s left of his expertly smudged eyeliner. Did he really not only skip his skin care routine, but didn’t even take time to wash his face? How fucked up _was_ he? And how the hell did he get home?

_Fucked up. Patrick._

_Oh god._

This is not how David had hoped to start out the new year.

\----

He probably should have stayed with David. After all, David had been _startlingly_ drunk. But staying would have been… weird. Spending the night with his business partner in a twin bed in a motel room, when said business partner’s sister could come home at any moment. So instead, he’d gently guided David in the direction of his bed, then taken his shoes off and tucked him in, all while David talked far too loudly about something Patrick hadn’t quite understood, but whatever it was, it was apparently _incorrect_.

It hadn’t taken long for David’s slurred tirade to drop off, giving way to soft snores as the large amount of alcohol he’d consumed finally caught up with him. Patrick had stayed for a few more minutes after that, busying himself with a couple of tasks he’d thought might make the morning easier for David -- like leaving a glass of water on the nightstand, alongside a bottle of Tylenol -- before quietly letting himself out and locking the door behind him.

He’d never pegged David for someone who would get totally wasted at a party, though if last night was any indication, he’d been very off-base with that assessment. Not that David had been alone by any stretch of the imagination; Patrick was fairly sure that by the end of the night, he’d been one of only a handful of people still in full control over their mental faculties. And yes, he’d had a couple of beers, but those had been consumed over the course of the entire evening -- nothing at all on the level of the _bottle_ of zhampagne David had been carrying around at one point.

Patrick rolls over and reaches for his phone, wanting to call David to check on him, but at the same time knowing that it would be far too early for that on a normal day, much less one when David is hungover. Maybe a text message would be okay, though? It would be quieter, at the very least.

But what on earth can he say that wouldn’t be… inappropriate for one to say to one’s business partner? Or just as weird as spending the night? But would still show that he… cares?

That’s what this is, right? He’s David’s friend. He cares about him. They’re business partners; that’s all. It’s nothing more than that.

And it’s totally not weird to wake up thinking about your friend and business partner, right?

\----

This is bad. Like, really bad, he thinks. He knows he was at a barn… how does he keep ending up at social events that take place in a barn?

Because this is his life now. His life with his… he pauses half-way to hanging up the towel he was gently patting his face dry with, remembering something. His life with his _traitorous_ friend, Stevie. That little _floozy_ who was supposed to be his companion for the night, his partner in snark and booze, had _betrayed_ him, showing up with Jake’s hand firmly in her back pocket, then on her waist, and at one point, he’s pretty sure Jake may have actually openly groped her … everything. 

How dare she blatantly engage in that kind of public display of... _adolescent lust_ after they had all agreed to break up. They had agreed! Clearly they would be addressing this flagrant disregard to the terms of their friendship. But later. Not now. Now he needs… he needs a lot of things. To get out of the clothes he’s still wearing that have no doubt been sullied with _barn particles_ and his sheets, oh, he has to launder the sheets immediately. No, he needs food. 

As he trudges back to his bed, debating which of his needs he will attend to first, he notices that there is a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on his nightstand. How did… who did… 

He knows he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to have made the decision to take care of his morning-after self. It certainly wasn’t Alexis, as she is nowhere to be found, and also not nearly conscientious enough for such a considerate gesture. He’s not sure where his parents are, but they’re also on the “least likely” list for care-giving. In fact, there’s really only one person he can even sort of imagine doing something so kind and forward-thinking. 

But what the hell would Patrick have been doing at the motel last night? 

A momentary panic surges through David, until he remembers that he had woken up fully clothed. So at least he hadn’t gone straight for the ultimate fuck-up and somehow seduced his way-too-thoughtful and probably-definitely-straight business partner into a frenzied for-one-night-only David Rose Special. 

On some level, David knows Patrick had to be the one that brought him home. But _why_? He couldn’t imagine Patrick wanting to spend any more time with him than he had to at this point.

He fights with the cap on the Tylenol and grabs four pills when he finally gets it open, then pops them in his mouth and drains the glass of water before crashing back onto the bed. What had he been thinking -- grabbing bottles and drinking like he was still in his 20s and could do things like party all night? Even then it had never led to anything but bad decisions.

_Patrick. Fucked up._

He wonders if he should check his phone for texts saying that Patrick is quitting or leaving town or never speaking to him again. Or maybe quitting, leaving town, _and_ never speaking to him again.

This is definitely not how David wanted to start a new year.

\----

Sighing softly to himself, Patrick finally rolls out of bed, grateful that Ray decided to spend the holidays in Winnipeg with his family, so Patrick has the entire house to himself. So, at the very least, he won’t have to try to make polite conversation while his brain is still trying to work out just what exactly happened last night.

He’d been trying to keep a close eye on David as the level of liquid in the bottle of zhampagne had gotten lower and lower, taking David’s inhibitions along with it. At some point in the evening, David had ended up making friends with the DJ and convincing him to play what had to be almost every single Mariah Carey song in existence while David wandered aimlessly around Mutt’s barn, holding the bottle up like a microphone as he sang along -- loudly and very off-key.

Somewhere in the middle of “Fantasy,” the music had faded out as a countdown began -- despite David’s reluctance to stop belting out the lyrics to a small audience of townies Patrick didn’t know -- and exactly ten seconds later, David had Patrick pinned against the wall of Mutt’s barn, lips smashed against his in a crushing kiss.

Patrick remembers blinking his eyes open as David pulled away, that little wry grin tucked into the corner of his lips -- the same one that always made Patrick’s heart skip a beat. And as many times as Patrick _might_ have fantasized about what it might feel like to kiss a guy -- to kiss _David_ \-- this was definitely _not_ the way he’d thought it would go.

He’d been so surprised that he hadn’t really known how to react, which meant he’d ended up sputtering out a less-than-confident, “So, um, we should probably go now,” that had sounded more like a question than a statement.

David had blinked at him -- brows furrowed in momentary confusion that Patrick hadn’t been sure whether to attribute to the alcohol or to what had just happened -- and said, “Yeah, yes. Yup, we should go.”

The whole way back to the motel, Patrick had been too busy trying to make sure David stayed upright to give it too much thought, but once he’d gotten back to Ray’s and climbed into bed, freshly showered and in the new pajamas his mom had sent him for Christmas, all bets were off. His brain had kept wandering back to what it had felt like to have David’s lips pressed against his -- to feel the roughness of David’s stubble against his own chin, to be the one looking _up_ instead of the one looking _down_ , to smell cologne instead of perfume.

But most of all, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way it had made him feel… right.

\----

He picks up his phone and stares at it, debating if he’s really brave enough, or maybe dumb enough, to check for notifications. He decides he’s not yet -- maybe once the dull ache in his head isn’t so bad. Or maybe never. Maybe he just doesn’t check ever. Maybe he just … pretends nothing ever happened. He was drunk. He could do that. Just ignore the pieces he remembers until they all fade away with time.

But, the problem is, he doesn’t want to. He’s pretty hazy on some of the details, but there are a few moments that seem almost crystalline in his recollection and he’d honestly like to keep them that way. Everything from the point where he stopped warbling about feeling like dreaming, but not being asleep, and the music had gotten softer when he’d seen Patrick laughing at something and the sound had shot straight through him… yeah, he’d like to remember what came next.

Patrick’s smile had lit up the whole fucking barn and David had felt both more intoxicated and yet somehow completely clearheaded when he absolutely knew that he _had_ to kiss Patrick. Mariah was a sign, right? He kept having these fantasies about Patrick, practically every time he looked at him there was something new that he found sexy or charming. And it was almost midnight, so close to midnight, literal seconds ticking away and he’d never had that midnight kiss he’d been dreaming about for so long. In his inebriated state, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take a chance.

And then there he’d been, his hands on Patrick’s perfect shoulders, guiding him against the nearest wall and holding him there as he went in for a kiss. 

For all the terrible ideas David has had on New Year’s Eve, essentially assaulting his business partner with his lips is probably the clear winner for the worst one. But, at the same time, he’s sure that Patrick hadn’t resisted, that he’d moved with David willingly. David is even fairly certain that Patrick not only participated in the kiss, but that he’d maybe even made some sort of … _affirmative_ sound that he might have… enjoyed it? 

But then he’d opened his eyes, darker than David had ever seen them and tinged with something he didn’t recognize, and said they should probably go. And not in the get-you-somewhere-sexy kind of way. That’s where he’d like things to go fuzzy again. He doesn’t need to remember another rejection like that.

David slings his arm over his eyes, sighing. Of course it didn’t… couldn’t mean anything. Patrick is a nice guy -- the nicest guy. He was just surprised by what was happening and too polite to push David away. It’s a totally logical, reasonable explanation. He was just humoring David and didn’t want to make a scene. And now David has to find a new numbers guy because he, as usual, has ruined everything. It’s all Stevie’s fault. If she’d been there for him… _with_ him like she had promised, none of this would have happened. How does he even begin to apologize for something like that to someone he actually cares about?

He picks up his phone again. He still needs food. Maybe he can order something while he lies here and contemplates his future of being forever alone and the proprietor of a failed business. 

His phone vibrates in his hand, his text tone surprising him and nearly causing him to drop it on his face, before he gets a better hold on it and reads the message.

 **Patrick Brewer:** Hey David. Just checking in. Wanted to make sure you were okay this morning. Hope you aren’t feeling too bad. 

_Oh._

So, that’s a thing that is happening. 

\----

Patrick’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest as he hits “send” on the text message, its status almost immediately changing from “delivered” to “read.” So, David is definitely awake. Or, at least, someone is using his phone.

His chest tightens as a tiny speech bubble containing three dots appears on the screen while David presumably composes his reply. Hopefully not one that includes anything about last night being a… mistake. A grievous error in judgment, as Moira Rose would say -- driven by alcohol and being caught up in the moment. Patrick isn’t sure how he’d handle that, because the more he thinks about it, the more sure he is that David has just changed the course of his life… completely.

Patrick had spent all of his formative years feeling like he was fumbling through the process when it came to love and relationships, just doing what he saw his friends do -- what he thought was expected of him. But he’d never really found pleasure in any of it. Being with Rachel had been… easy, in a way. She was his best friend. They knew each better than anyone else. But he wasn’t sure it had ever been _love_.

For a long time, Patrick had wondered what must be wrong with him -- why he was apparently never going to feel the way his friends said they did when they were “in love.” Why sparks never flew when he kissed Rachel -- or any girl, for that matter. Why having sex with Rachel felt like it was an obligation, rather than something he actually _wanted_. Why the thought of promising to spend the rest of his life with her made him feel sick and anxious instead of excited.

He’d just about resigned himself to a life of never feeling like the pieces fit together quite right when a friend of his -- in a drunken tirade at a bar one night, after one of his and Rachel’s big fights that seemed to be getting more and more frequent -- had blurted out that he didn’t understand why Patrick wouldn’t just find himself a nice _guy_ to settle down with. Patrick remembers now the way his heart had jumped up into his throat at those words -- how he’d wanted to object, but something in the back of his mind had stopped him. Some small part of him that knew his friend was right. That the reason it didn’t work with Rachel was because he wasn’t into women.

Still, he and Rachel had fallen back into it again -- just like they always did. Only this time, the big fight had ended in Rachel pressing her diamond engagement ring back into Patrick’s hand as tears ran down her cheeks, and Patrick packing up everything he owned and moving to Schitt’s Creek. At the time, he’d felt like the name of the town he’d chosen was apropos, given the state of his life. But he’d felt like he needed a fresh start -- somewhere he could take a good, hard look at his life and what he wanted from it. Then, David Rose had walked into Ray’s house, needing to apply for a business license, and that… that was where Patrick first noticed the shift.

The moment his hand had touched David’s, he’d felt… something. Something that, up until then, he’d only seen in movies or on TV, or read about in books -- that _spark_ that supposedly happens when you meet _the one_. He’d heard his friends talk about it too, but he’d always figured they must be exaggerating, because for Patrick, attraction was something he had to work at. To cultivate. It had never been something that just came naturally. With David, though… it was suddenly… different. The only problem was, Patrick didn’t know what to do with that. He still doesn’t.

He’s never been with a guy -- never asked a guy out, never kissed one, never shared more than a platonic hug with a firm pat on the back. And David is his _business partner_. And also _way_ out of Patrick’s league. David is… experienced. Patrick has gathered that much from the stories he’s heard at the store and over workday lunches at the cafe. No way in hell would he ever be interested in someone like Patrick, who might as well be the plain vanilla of people -- predictable and boring. Patrick grew up in a little white house with a picket fence and a dog and played baseball and went to college and got his MBA and a good job at an accounting firm right after graduation, checking off all of the boxes, one after the other, but never really feeling… fulfilled.

David, on the other hand… He’s Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food. Chocolate and caramel and cookies, dynamic and fun and interesting. And sure, Patrick can’t get enough of David’s dark eyes, perfect skin, immaculately coiffed hair, or his always-unique, often-gender-bending fashion choices. But imagining the two of them together just… doesn’t work. They’re too different. After last night, though… maybe… ?

No. He can’t go down that road. David was drunk. He hadn’t known what he was doing. And now that he’s awakened to a new day, he’s probably realizing what a huge mistake he made, and how Patrick will never even come close to being the type of person David should be with.

Patrick takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, hoping to get his heart rate down to a manageable level before ends up being the one having to talk himself down from a panic attack. He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. Then, any semblance of calm he’d managed to cultivate sails right out the window as his phone buzzes in his hand and his eyes fly open to see a new message from David: _I’m okay. Thanks for checking._

\----

He’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. 

He might not be fine. He definitely doesn’t want to admit he just typed out 17 drafts of a message to answer Patrick that ended up only being five fucking words because everything he wrote seemed wrong. 

Why is Patrick checking on _him_? Shouldn’t he be the one asking how Patrick is doing? If he’s traumatized from the night before? Does he need help gathering boxes so he can pack his things and run far away from his drunken, inappropriate business partner? Should he inquire about regrets of getting involved with the store? Or see if Patrick was indeed that one that had brought him home and make sure he hadn’t done anything else awful, like vomiting in his car?

What even is this manic spiral of anxiety he’s doing? He’s kissed, like, a thousand people and never thought twice about most of them. Or any of them, really. He’s had sex with people that never crossed his mind again. But here he is, on this lumpy motel mattress on the first day of a new fucking year already doing a deep dive into the pool of panic over kissing Patrick.

He looks at his phone, willing another message to pop up. He can’t stop the soft gasp he lets out when the text appears.

 **Patrick Brewer:** I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet, but I was thinking about going to the cafe for brunch. Would you maybe want to join me?

What the actual fuck.

Patrick wants to have brunch? Is this when he drops the bomb and says he can’t work with David anymore? He wants to talk in public so David won’t be able to react like the lunatic he has so clearly shown himself to be recently?

Maybe this is good. Maybe he can say he’s sorry and because they’ll be in the cafe, Patrick will…. What is he doing? Patrick would be gracious no matter where they were, because that’s how he is. Even if he outright rejected David’s apology, he’d still find some way to be incredibly courteous about it. 

He thinks that he doesn’t really have a choice. He has to accept the invite and go and meet him and sit across from that earnest face and those big, brown eyes and god help him if he smiles at something. 

David takes a deep breath and starts typing: _I could definitely go for brunch. See you there in an hour?_

He hits ‘send’ before he can overthink it. Whatever is going to happen will happen. He can handle it. And if he cries, he’ll blame it on his hangover.

Patrick responds instantly. _I’ll be there. See you soon._

Now what the fuck is he going to wear?

\---- 

Patrick is sitting in a booth at the cafe, his thumbnail idly tracing the outline of a chip in the formica tabletop as he anxiously awaits David’s arrival. He should have known better than to arrive any earlier than David’s quoted time of one hour, but the optimistic part of him that also wanted to get this talk out of the way sooner rather than later had won out in the end.

He still has no idea what he’s going to say, or how he’s going to keep it from being unbearably awkward. He’s been trying to muster up the courage to tell David how he felt for months, and now that they’ve _kissed_ , somehow it feels even harder. Maybe because it still feels like it had to be a mistake. But, no matter what it was, he knows they have to clear the air -- get it all out in the open, so they’ll still be able to face each other at the store. Hopefully.

David rushes through the door in a flurry of black and white, a few snowflakes blowing in behind him, right on time -- which, honestly, is a bit of a surprise. He glances quickly around the cafe, his gaze landing on Patrick for no more than a second before he hurries over to the booth, barely even taking a seat across from Patrick before he’s blurting out what sounds like an apology, though the words are tumbling out of his mouth at such a rate that Patrick can hardly make sense of them.

“I’m so sorry-- I shouldn’t have-- I don’t know what I was-- Look, I was drunk, and I--” David pauses and takes a breath, clearly trying to collect himself. “I’m sorry… for what happened last night. It was… it was a mistake.”

Patrick can’t stop his shoulders from slumping forward as David utters the exact words Patrick had feared. Even though he’d been expecting it, that doesn’t make it hurt any less to actually hear David say it out loud. He opens his mouth to respond, his brain trying desperately to put together a sentence that makes sense and doesn’t sound as dejected as he feels, but before he can say a word, David is speaking again.

“And I totally understand if you don’t want to be business partners anymore, because how can you when I _embarrassed_ you like that at that party? I mean, I know you’re straight, so I don’t even know why I-- Anyway, I can’t afford to buy you out right now, so we’ll have to set up some sort of a payment plan--”

“David, wait.” Patrick’s mind is still trying to wrap itself around everything David just said, but he knows he can’t let it go on for any longer, because none of it is true. “No, that’s not--”

“I guess we should probably have some sort of contract, so I’ll ask my dad to help--”

“David.” This time, Patrick is successful in stopping David’s spiral, though the deer-in-headlights look in David’s eyes -- and the tears he can see gathering at the corners -- make his heart ache. He has to tell him the truth. He can’t just sit here and let David torture himself. “David, I--”

“I really do understand.” David’s voice is softer this time, wobbling with emotion.

“No, you don’t. Because I’m not…” He pauses again, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he prays to a god he’s not sure he believes in anymore to help him find the words -- to give him the strength to be honest with David… and with himself. “I’m not straight.”

“Um… okay…?” David pulls his lower lip into his mouth, his eyes regarding Patrick with confusion, mixed with what Patrick hopes is cautious optimism.

“I’m gay, and I… I’m pretty sure I’ve had a crush on you since the day we first met.” Patrick lets out a nervous laugh, watching as the right side of David’s mouth curves upward just slightly into a shy grin.

\----

David is smiling. Is he smiling? He thinks he’s smiling. Kind of, at least. He honestly doesn’t know what’s going on because he’s just trying to process everything that just happened. He’d convinced himself on the way to the cafe that this was absolutely the end for them and he needed to be prepared. And rather than wait for Patrick to have to gently extract his heart from his body by hand and step on it, he’d jumped right in with apologies and assumptions.

But now Patrick is looking at him expectantly. Patrick who is… gay. Patrick who just said he’s had a crush on him since the day they met. He blinks to try to clear the tears from his eyes, but finds that not only do they not vacate, but they seem to have multiplied with the idea that Patrick was not only _not_ horrified by David kissing him, but maybe didn’t have a problem with it at all.

“So you aren’t … mad?” he asks, hesitantly.

Patrick shakes his head. “No. I can’t say I’ve never thought about kissing you, because I definitely have. That may not have been the circumstances I had imagined, but I was not mad about it.”

David perks up considerably. “You’ve thought about kissing me?”

He has to wait for Patrick to tell him more as Twyla comes to collect their orders, but he takes the time to try to recalibrate and let himself think in terms of possibilities and what this could mean for them.

Patrick lets Twyla get far enough away from the table to be considered out of earshot and nods. “Yes, David. I have absolutely thought about kissing you. But having it actually happen was… better than anything I had thought of. I felt like… I felt like I always hoped I’d feel. Like that was my first _real_ kiss.”

David can’t stand the dreamy look that flickers across Patrick’s face. Without thinking, he leans over the table and kisses Patrick again, soft and quick, and is delighted by Patrick’s dazed expression when he sits back down. 

Patrick blinks, like he’s trying to bring himself back to the moment. “That, uh, that wasn’t a mistake, right?”

“No. That was very intentional... is that okay?” David bites his lip, hopeful.

“Yes,” Patrick says. “Can I… Can I take you out to dinner? And maybe after that we could do some more… intentional kissing?”

David loves the blush that pinks up Patrick’s cheeks when he mentions kissing. “Yep. Yes, please.”

“Tonight?” Patrick asks, reaching across the table to touch his fingertips to David’s, then lets them tangle together.

He nods enthusiastically. “Tonight.”

This is exactly how David had hoped to start the new year.


End file.
